Behind Grey Eyes
by JoiForber
Summary: Captain Stephen Peacock is a floorwalker at Grace Brothers. What makes him tick? Is he really all mouth and trousers? This fic explores his inner thoughts and feelings. Written in the first-person.
1. Are You Free, Captain Peacock?

Are You Free, Captain Peacock?

Part 1, An Introduction

I am Stephen Peacock. I work at Grace Brothers Department Store, in the Ladies' and Gents' Ready-made clothing department as a floorwalker. What that

means is when a customer comes into the department; I greet them and ask them if they are being served. I then direct them to one of our capable

salespersons for assistance. I have worked at Grace Brothers for 20 years, working my way up from a sweeper in the stockroom, to a clerk in the Toy

Department, and finally promoted to floorwalker. My job allows me freedom to walk about the two departments, supervising the activities of those

subordinate to me. Since I have been here 20 years, I have been awarded the key to the Executive Washroom and the Executive Dining Room.

We are very formal here at Grace Brothers, addressing each other by Mr., Mrs., or Miss and our last names. I served in the Army during World War II,

achieving the rank of captain and therefore insist on being addressed by my military rank: Captain Peacock. This also separates me by class, from my

subordinates.

I have been married to my wife Vivienne for 15 years. I married rather late in life, at the age of 35. A friend of a friend, whom I connected with at a

regimental reunion banquet, introduced us. I did not love her at first, but convinced myself that in time I would grow to love her. It was the expected thing

to do: settle down; get married and be miserable. I lived that role perfectly. I suppose I had a fantasy about marriage: I would be head over heels in love

with my wife; I would enjoy her company; I would want to grow old with her. We courted for about 6 months and were married. My wife inherited her family

home and I moved in after the wedding. My wife didn't much care for sex, but me, I craved it. I learned to accept relations on the rare occasion that my wife

conceded. Vivienne always acted like it was such a chore. She didn't want her hair mussed; she didn't like the messiness of sex, she didn't seem to enjoy it

at all. I would sense her displeasure and fake a climax just to get it over with. This added to my frustration.

We entertained a bridge playing club. Mostly Vivienne entertained the women and I was relegated to serving drinks to their husbands in the study. The

men all seemed to be miserable in their marriages. I confided my marital concerns to a man named Wesley, who suggested I apply for a membership to the

Blue Cinema Club: a dirty movie theatre on the East End. I felt guilty going there at first, watching people copulating up on the big screen while pleasuring

myself beneath my raincoat. After awhile, it became like therapy. The only difference was I felt worse after leaving the theatre.

It was accepted that men of my age went there, whether they were married or not. I became frustrated and it affected my interactions with my co-workers.

was grouchy and sometimes made their workday pure hell. I found myself flirting with the female customers, only to be rejected, adding to my frustration. I

have a reputation for being a "randy old floorwalker". I would thrust myself at my boss' secretaries as well. None of my advances were welcomed or

reciprocated. I rarely objected when my boss, Mr. Rumbold, would hold after-hours meetings. I didn't mind early morning report times, as this was reason to

escape my suffocating marriage. Sometimes I would call Vivienne, tell her I had a meeting, and go to the Blue Cinema. I think she knew I was lying, but

never let on. Maybe she figured if I went there I wouldn't be trying to get at her. God, I hate my life!

I worked with a colorful cast of characters. The senior salesman in the Gents' Department was Mr. Grainger. He has been at Grace Brothers 37 years. He

knows menswear better than anyone who has ever worked for Grace Brothers. He's a bit stodgy and cantankerous, but he works hard and is very

knowledgeable. Funny, he doesn't seem miserable in his marriage. Maybe when I'm his age, I'll be what they call "happily married". Maybe by the time one

gets to Mr. Grainger's age, they don't care anymore.

There's Mr. Wilberforce Claybourne Humphries, a carefree sort of fellow. He lives a very eclectic lifestyle, living at home with his mother. He is charming,

caring, and meticulous in his appearance and has an impeccable work ethic. He has been with Grace Brothers for about 10 years. His sense of style is

perfect for this line of work, cutting edge of fashion and an array of friends and acquaintances in all areas of entertainment and social status. He is polite,

sensitive, and friendly; I can't think of anyone who doesn't respect him. He doesn't reveal much in the way of his romantic interests, which adds to the

mystique of him and also maintains the professionalism our store demands.

Mr. James Dick Lucas is somewhat of a lad. He's only been here at Grace Brothers for about a year. His work ethic leaves something to be desired. I

reprimand him several times a week for being insubordinate, late for work, and goofing off. He can skirt the line of disrespect at times. He is the youngest

male member of my staff and his sophomoric antics are the one thing I envy about him. He wants a romantic interest so bad he can't see straight, which

often causes him to not think straight! He tries to be helpful, which is sometimes his downfall. He usually talks out the side of his mouth or off the top of his

head or out the back of his arse. He can usually liven up the workplace with his daily riling up of Mrs. Slocombe. He lives with his mother in High Gate. He

will fabricate the most elaborate excuse for being late for work, using his mother and their bizarre living arrangements as fodder.

Mrs. Betty Slocombe is the senior sales representative in the Ladies' Department. She has been at Grace Brothers about as long as I have. She knows her

department and is very knowledgeable of the items she sells. She is independent and head strong. Every week she comes in with a new hair color. Not just

the typical brown or auburn, but outlandish colors! She will show up with flaming orange hair one week and blow-fly green the next. Her hair has been

every color of the rainbow and every color in between. She has a certain air of daintiness, femininity, and strength all at the same time. We are often at

words points; and she will not back down in an argument. Sometimes we fight like an old married couple because we are cut from the same cloth; we both l

survived through World War II. I served in the Army, Mrs. Slocombe was a land-girl and evacuated to work on a farm in Tiverton.

She is shorter than I am. She appears to be cobby-bodied, but has a pair of sexy legs, accentuated by her wearing high heels. She has beautiful eyes and

lips, and large knockers that fill her blouse more than adequately. She has a laugh that can light up a room. Her voice changes with her mood. She can go

from a cockney fishwife to a posh Chelsea to a Yorkshire, sometimes within the same sentence! She has a cat, Tiddles, which she refers to as her pussy.

This cat is the center of her life. Our after-hours meetings have to fit into Tiddles' schedule or else Mrs. Slocombe will protest loudly how it is unfair to her

pussy. On more than one occasion, she's called her neighbor to have him have a look at her pussy.

Mrs. Slocombe has helped me out of more than one mess, usually involving Vivienne's suspecting me of philandering. Back in 1964, Mrs. Slocombe and I had

a 'thing'. It was the first of what would be a series of infatuations I would have.

I didn't actually cheat on Vivienne, not in the physical sense. As I have said earlier, women didn't reciprocate my advances. Mrs. Slocombe did for awhile, but

I am somewhat of a big girl's blouse. I liked the idea of having it off, but I never actually completed the act. I would get a cuddle, a kiss, maybe even a feel,

but never sex. Is it any wonder I'm frustrated and scowl most of the time?

Miss Shirley Brahms is the junior assistant to Mrs. Slocombe. Miss Brahms is the youngest member of my staff. She is pretty and intelligent. She could

easily take over Mrs. Slocombe's position and perform her duties to perfection. She is from the East End and has a thick cockney accent. She has a cutting

sense of humor. Miss Brahms lives at home with her mother. Mr. Lucas has tried unsuccessfully to win the affections of Miss Brahms. If Mr. Lucas wasn't so

immature and didn't come off as desperate, he might have a chance.

I have an arch nemesis at Grace Brothers. He is Mr. Beverly Harman from Packing and Maintenance. He is foul-mouthed, crude, unkempt, and generally low

class. His clothes are usually dirty from working in the warehouse. He arrives on our sales floor after the starting bell rings to deliver something we are to

try to shift. He is the shop steward for the warehouse staff, which includes Packing and maintenance, Building and Grounds and the cleaning staff. He uses

his position as union representative to try to bully me. As the head of my department, I usually order him back down to his basement. This tête-à-tête goes

on every day.

My supervisor is Mr. Cuthbert Rumbold. How he achieved his position is beyond me! He must have incriminating photos of Mr. Grace. He was transferred

from Hardware; he knows nothing about the clothing business. Most of the time, he cloisters himself in his office. His secretaries are young, sexy,

gorgeous…and safe! He is oblivious to the amount of nookie he could be having. His secretaries wear the most skimpy, flattering, and revealing clothing. On

more than on occasion I've had to excuse myself from the sales floor and go for a toss.

The owner and CEO of the store is Young Mr. Grace. He looks to be 90 going on 101. We have the utmost respect for him as he built Grace Brothers from

nothing. He was a fishmonger back in the 1920s and took a chance on opening a department store during the Depression, with almost no collateral. He is

stingy, none of us has had a rise in the past 3 years despite sales being brisk. He walks through our department, waving his cane over his head and

announcing, "You've all done very well!" as if that's going to pay the mortgage. He has promised us a retirement pension.

His biggest contribution to his workers is a subsidized canteen lunch, somewhat reminiscent of a Dickensian gruel line. I'm waiting for someone to cower

back through the line and say to the canteen manageress, "Please, sir, I want some…more?"

He has hot, sexy secretaries and the word around the store is that he's having it off with every one of them. Fancy that! Older than dirt and humping

around! The consensus is they are gold diggers and only in it for his money. He has a trust fund set up for distressed call girls and strippers. Lovely.

Every year Mr. Grace hosts a Christmas party at the store, complete with open bar and catered food. I usually drink too much and act like a fool, resulting in

months of Christmas party anecdotes and stories of my misconduct involving a female staff member and a blow-tickler. My wife usually attends the parties

with me, but sits at the table glowering and not enjoying herself, which results in an all-the-way-home row.

There is Young Mr. Grace's older brother: Old Mr. Grace; but he doesn't get around much any more.


	2. Confessions of a Lovesick Floorwalker

**Confessions of a Lovesick Floorwalker**

I spend most of my day walking about between the Gents' and Ladies' Departments in silence. A flare up and an ensuing row between Mrs. Slocombe and

myself usually breaks up the monotony. She will protest the tacky "common" display units sent for use in her department and I will argue that I have

approved their use. We battle like an old married couple; secretly, I look forward to these daily outbursts. We never leave the store angry and the next day

we start fresh. Sometimes I order something I know will get up her nose, just so we can have an argument; it's like flirting. We are both headstrong and it

makes for the most colorful exchanges. I don't get mean or nasty with her, but I do have a lot of fun!

She has never caught me gawking at her, but I do it every chance I get. She has an amazingly sexy bum and beautiful legs. She walks by and I find myself

turning my head sideways to catch an eyeful. Oh, God! If I could run my hands up those legs…

Her perfume drives me mad! It's subtle and sensual and intoxicating. When she walks past me in the department, I sniff the air after she's gone by, then I

usually sneak a look at her from behind.

We usually sit next to each other at the meetings and in the canteen. Just being close to her makes me think naughty thoughts she'd most likely slap me for.

I was in the lift with her the other day and I was so tempted to hit the STOP button and ravish her, but I lost my bottle. I stood there, with a blank

expression, staring up at the ceiling, hands jammed in my pockets; she probably thinks I'm an ass. I wish I could tell her just how I feel.

Mr. Grainger's retirement-turned-anniversary dinner was the night before last. Mrs. Slocombe stepped out of the lift in a gorgeous dress that showed off her

slim, curvaceous body. Her make-up was very conservative and her natural beauty showed through. I went stag so I was able to dance with her. She had

drunk quite a bit, so when we danced, she literally fell into my arms. Holding her, I could feel myself getting aroused and I really tried not to press myself

against her. It proved to be too much for me and I had to ask her to sit down. When the evening was over, I put her into a cab; I could not trust myself to

drive her home as it would have been effortless to go in for a nightcap and to take advantage of her. She probably wouldn't have even remembered what

happened.

The Grace Brothers Christmas party was an occasion where I was able to take a few liberties. During the game 'Postman's Knock', I sneaked a quick

cuddle and a slight kiss. It was all over before it could get heated up. It was good that we ran out of time, I would have made a right fool of myself

dry-humping her in the broom cupboard and news of that indiscretion would have been scandalous.

I would love to be able to take her out sometime. I'd like to have dinner with her; candlelight, soft music, wine, holding hands. But I feel that will never

happen. I'm married. So I stand here, pining, longing for the day when I can kiss Mrs. Slocombe's lips and hold her in my arms and not have her slap me.

I am standing just at the stairs to our department. Mrs. Slocombe has arrived a little earlier than usual and greets me with a smile as she signs the time

book. My heart flutters. We exchange light pleasantries and she departs for her counter. Oh, she's putting on her makeup! I watch as she concentrates and

stares intently in the round mirror on her counter. She's making her lips into an elongated 'O' and I think lascivious thoughts. She glides on some lipstick and

purses her lips and I catch myself pursing my lips as well. Oh, to be that lipstick! She blotted her lips on a piece of folded paper and I remind myself to

retrieve that paper from the dustbin before Mr. Harman empties it. She brushes on some mascara and I think that maybe at some point today she will bat

those eyelashes at me and try to wheedle something in the way of a favor. She spritzed on some perfume and her alluring scent wafts over to me. I inhale

deeply and inadvertently let out a small sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught me staring! Ugh! She swiveled her head and narrowed her eyes at

me.

"What're you starin' at, Captain Peacock?" she demanded, frowning.

Thinking fast, I replied, "I was wondering how much of the company's time you were going to take putting on your makeup; you should have done that at

home!"

I gave her a disapproving look. Touché.

"Well, I've arrived early to allow for that. Besides no one else has arrived yet!" she countered.

Our first spat of the day! The lift bells dinged and both doors opened. Miss Brahms, Mr. Lucas, and Mr. Humphries have arrived and I take my place monitoring

the sign-in book. Sigh.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Dear Sexy Knickers<span>**

Using a gum band and his teeth, Mr. Lucas launched a note that he scribbled on a scrap of bill head. The note missed its intended target- Miss Brahms. I

picked up the note thinking it was just rubbish and handed it to Mrs. Slocombe to dispose of. She read it. Since I had handed her the note, she thought the

note was from me and she phoned the Gents' Department to discuss the content of it.

It said, "_Dear Sexy Knickers, I don't half fancy you. Meet me outside at 5:30 and we'll get it together_."

She used this smoky and seductive voice and I pretended not to recognize her. She called me a 'naughty boy' and I could feel my face flush as she spoke.

She said she wasn't promising anything, but she would meet me outside at five-thirty. It was like a fantasy come true, but I got cold feet. I used my formal

speaking voice and asked her to whom I was speaking and how I should know her. She said, "You mean you really don't know?"

I answered that I had no idea. She hung up. She could ring me any time and croon in my ear with that sexy voice.


	3. The Club

The Club

We had just finished our failed attempt to redecorate the former basement bunker at Grace Brothers. Young Mr. Grace offered us the drab room as a social club with the hopes of promoting camaraderie in an after-hours convivial environment. Since the cost of hiring professional decorators exceeded Mr. Grace's agreed-upon price, the Mens' and Ladies' Departments decided to give it a go.

The whole affair ended in a brawl as we slung wallpaper paste all over the room and ourselves. Mr. Rumbold reprimanded us for our child-like behavior and he, too, was doused with paste.

The others had left and Betty and I hung back to straighten the room a bit. We did not have a mop or a broom, so we simply picked up the torn wallpaper and collected the buckets and brushes. Betty still had paste on her face from where I had smacked the brush and flung it on her. Her make-up was running and she glared at me. My moustache was caked with paste and I could feel it drying on my cheeks and chin. We looked a sight!

I stepped over to Betty. Her eyes were blazing and beautiful. I knew there had always been tension between us; I just didn't know what _kind_ of tension. She looked at me and our eyes locked. I stepped closer. She did not pull back or say a word. I reached for her hands and took them in mine. Even with her face all slopped up with the gooey paste, she was pretty. I leaned in, licking my lips lightly in anticipation. I could see she was studying my face. I pursed my lips and kissed her. She didn't pull back. She reached up and cupped my face in her sticky hands. I could taste the wallpaper paste on her lips. They were exquisite! My heart drummed in my chest. She softly touched my ears. I had paste spattered there as well.

Over Betty's shoulder, I could see movement. It was Dick Lucas.

"I'm just going to get this health magazine…Oh, Blimey! Excuse me!" he stammered and rushed out.

I slowly straightened up, stepped back, and walked out without saying a word.


	4. A Visit From Vivienne

A Visit From Vivienne

Vivienne arrived at Grace Brothers shortly after the opening bell. I stood stoically, enduring her tirade of insults and abuse. My staff turned away from the spectacle, embarrassed. I could feel my face flush hot and a gritted my teeth, feeling my blood course through my temples. She left as swiftly as she arrived, leaving me humiliated and seething.

Nine O'clock Coffee

I silently made my way to the canteen, hoping the scene which Vivienne created would have aborted from everyone's mind. My staff was seated, chatting among themselves. As I exited the queue with my tray they quieted. Why do people do that? It's so bloody obvious they're talking about you. I sat down next to Betty. The others averted their eyes and toyed with their coffee cups and spoons. Mr. Grainger was unusually silent as he bunged three sugar cubes into his cup. I sighed and sipped my coffee. Betty gently reached over and placed her hand on top of mine. She rubbed my hand and patted it sympathetically. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye to see her smiling up at me. I rubbed her palm with my thumb in acknowledgement, trying to smile back, the lump in my throat almost choking me.

I set my cup down and Mr. Humphries gave me a side hug. It felt good to know they weren't all laughing at me.


	5. A Grace Brothers Christmas Party

**A Grace Brothers Christmas Party**

I showered and dressed for the annual Grace Brothers Christmas Party. Straightening my bow tie, I checked my look in the mirror of my wife's vanity table; I looked good in my pressed dinner jacket, starched white shirt, and creased trousers. Freshly shaved and my moustache neatly trimmed, I admired my haircut. My wife would not be attending the party this year, something about a headache. Just as well.

I arrived at half-seven. The music wafted down from our department and greeted me in the lift. My staff milled round awaiting the arrival of Young Mr. Grace so we could be seated for dinner.

Betty looked beautiful and my heart constricted as I drank in the sight of her. She wore an ankle-length silver chiffon dress with a deep V-neck collar which accentuated her cleavage. Her upswept hair sported a festive red rinse and a sprig of mistletoe; her neck was adorned with a necklace of red and green Christmas balls and bells strung on it. I eyed her tip to toe, trying not to gawk.

After the usual sub-par Grace Brothers catered meal of tough dry turkey, roasted parsnips, overcooked Brussels sprouts, and bread sauce, the party got underway. The 3-piece band consisted of an elderly woman on the pianoforte, one on the cello and a violinist. I asked Betty to dance and she accepted. She was light on her feet and we whirled round the dance floor, my hand on her hip and holding her hand. I leaned in and inhaled the familiar scent of her perfume; it was intoxicating. After three dances and several glasses of wine, the games began.

We played Postman's Knock and I got Betty! We stood in the dark of the broom cupboard, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. Betty rested her hand in my chest. My breath caught in my throat. All these months of secretly admiring her and now at last we were here.

"Your heart is beating like a drum, Captain Peacock!" she remarked.

I laughed nervously; if only she knew! I kept my hands on her hips and she traced my ears with her fingertips. I bit my lower lip as the sensation ran through me like a jolt of electricity. I had butterflies in my belly and I could feel myself trembling. I wanted to kiss her so badly, but I was losing my bottle as the seconds ticked away. Could I stop at just a kiss?

The broom cupboard smelled musty like sour mops and dirty rags. I concentrated on Betty's perfume.

I licked my lips and leaned in, my eyes clamped shut. I could smell the wine on her breath and it quite excited me. Just as I opened my mouth to kiss her, Mr. Lucas rapped sharply on the door. Startled, I backed a chaste distance from Betty. I tried not to sigh too loudly, but I was sincerely disappointed.

"Time's up, you two!" he laughed.

The moment was shattered. Betty stormed out of the cupboard, "Weak as water!" trailing behind her as she stomped over to her seat. I was humiliated. I am weak as water.

Miss Brahms went into the cupboard and knocked. Mr. Humphries and Mr. Rumbold looked over at Mr. Lucas, who was preoccupied with one of Mr. Rumbold's new young secretaries. They looked back at me and then motioned to the cupboard door. It fell to me…again.

I took a breath and headed to the door, wolf-whistles following me. Betty glared at me. She probably thought I rejected her in hoped of having a canoodle with Miss Brahms. Nothing could be further from the truth.

She opened the door to the dark cupboard and I went in. A faint scent of honeysuckle and lavender greeted me. It wasn't Betty…but at least it wasn't Harman either!

Miss Brahms grabbed me by my lapels, "Listen, you! You're not to do anything, you hear?" she growled.

"Yes, Miss Brahms," I whispered, flummoxed.

She released me and a slunk back a little, "Oh, Captain Peacock! I'm sorry! I thought you were Mr. Lucas; I was dreadin' him comin' in here!"

"I understand," I said dejectedly.

"You're not going to do anything, are you?" she asked cautiously.

"No, Miss Brahms."

"Good!" she blurted and then, upon realizing how rude that sounded, she softened, "I didn't mean to make it sound like that, Captain Peacock. I just don't appreciate being groped."

"I'm not in the groping mood, Miss Brahms," I sighed.

"You'd rather be in here with someone else, wouldn't you?" she asked.

Was it that obvious? I was just a lovesick, barmy fool.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I lied.

"Give over!" she taunted, "You can't hide it, Captain Peacock. You're in love with Mrs. Slocombe!"

I bristled. I've always prided myself with being the picture of decorum and forthrighteousness. She saw right through me.

"I'll tell you what, Captain Peacock. If I get picked again, I'll give my turn to Mrs. Slocombe. How's that?"

I stood in silence, embarrassed that I'd been found out.

Again a loud sharp knock on the door and the seven minutes of misery were over.

I was chosen and went into the dark cupboard. I knocked on the door and waited. And waited. And waited. A hard lump in my throat threatened to choke me as I stood there sweating, my breath ragged and choppy. I wondered if anyone would answer it. Finally there was a response and I opened the door. The familiar fragrance assailed my nostrils and my heart leapt.

"I've decided to give you another chance, Captain Peacock!" Betty chirped.

My face flushed hot; it was a good thing it was dark in the cupboard.

I chuckled nervously as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. I immediately wrapped my arms round her. Her fingers curled round the hair at the base of my neck and I tilted my head back, enjoying her touch. She pulled me to her and I gasped as I felt her lips on my neck just above my collar. I mustered my nerve, licked my lips, and leaned in. I could feel the warmth of her breath on my chin. I nervously sought her lips with mine. My knees buckled a little as our lips met. She put her hands up to my face and gently touched my ears as we stood there snogging, our breathing becoming labored. My moustache didn't prickle her lips or tickle her; everything was perfect. I touched only the tip of my tongue to hers, trying to remain a gentleman and not lose control. I kept my arms round her and held her tightly as we kissed passionately. It was a dream come true! After months and months of admiring her and fantasizing about this, it was finally happening. My heart felt like it would burst out of my chest. She smelled so wonderful and she was so soft and warm. I pulled back a little in order to catch my breath. I dipped my head and nuzzled her bosom, kissing her exposed skin. She moaned softly, driving me mad. My hands remained on her hips and I slowly slid them to her bum and pinched her impishly. Betty squealed and jumped into me. I laughed and held her tighter.

"Naughty boy!" she drawled in that low smoky voice of hers.

I gently planted open-mouthed kisses on her neck.

There came a loud banging on the door, which startled us. My head popped up and I glared at the closed door in the dark.

"Times up!" he called out.

I turned toward the door and pounded back, "Go away!" I yelled.

I could hear Lucas' sophomoric laughter trail off as he walked away.

Betty's hands moved to my hips and she nudged her knee between mine, "Now…where were we?" she breathed.

I leaned in for another deep kiss.


	6. Oh, What a Tangled Web

**Oh, What a Tangled Web**

_A/N: I just watched this episode and thought that Rumbold's secretary acted a little too smarmy for what Captain Peacock had claimed actually happened between them. I think he is a straight-up Mack-Daddy and he totally knocked boots with the girl. She, upon realising he is about 30 years her senior, is repulsed by her lack of sense and wants to put the whole thing behind her and resume her original plan to marry her ___fiancé_. She must first play along with the ruse and cover Captain Peacock's butt and help the situation to blow over.  
><em>

I arrived at Grace Brother late this morning. Well, let me rephrase that. I, along with Mr. Rumbold's rather young secretary arrived late. My staff was well aware of my tardiness. My wife had called inquiring as to whether or not I had returned from my sales conference in Birmingham. Mr. Lucas and Mr. Humphries played a good charade of how I was busy with a customer. The truth of the matter is I was neither in bedding, nor in Birmingham.

Mr. Rumbold was assigned a rather delicious little secretary, Monica Hazelwood, several months back. She is considerably younger than I and rather naïve. Beautiful blue eyes, blonde, nubile and lithe. She had a girlish innocence to her and yet a desirability which drove me mad.

I had made advances toward her at the Grace Brothers Christmas party, pursuing her with my blow tickler. A few rounds of drinks later and Postman's Knock and I found myself in the duplicating cupboard with her. I managed to slip my hand inside her panties and was having quite a lovely feel-up and planning to go further, when there came a knock on the door and time was up and I had to retreat to the gent's to finish myself off.

She approached me in the canteen, rather troubled, about her upcoming wedding. Knowing that if she were to get married, I'd never have another chance at her, I tried to dissuade her from making the biggest mistake of her life. She was distraught. I held her hand and tried to comfort her. I told her to meet me after work for coffee. I took her round to Beppo's café and she emptied herself, sobbing that she was confused. In her delicate state, she had drunk two cups of coffee and missed her bus. I offered to give her a lift home to Reading in my car, as it was raining and dark and the next bus wasn't due for an hour and a half. As we passed through Carshalton, my car broke down and we were stranded. We walked about a half-mile, huddled under my brolly, to a pub-hotel. I paid for a room and called my wife and fabricated the story about the sales conference in Birmingham, to account for the background noise from the hotel lobby. We'd had a few drinks in the pub to get things started.

I was nervous, but eager. We walked up the stairs to the room; she slipped her hand in mine. I opened the door and snapped on the light. She was rather tipsy and fell against me and I had to catch her. She giggled and said, "Kiss me."

I did so, my head swimming, and wrapped my arms round her waist. She unbuttoned my overcoat and loosened my tie. I set my homburg on the bedside table. My lips blindly sought her mouth; she giggled as my moustache tickled her lips. I hung my overcoat on the hall stand and carefully draped my jacket over the back of a chair. I slid my braces down and unbuttoned my trousers, folding them neatly on top of my jacket. Standing in my boxers and a vest, I began to undress Monica. I nuzzled her décolletage, inhaling deeply and running my hands from her derriere up her back and down again, pressing myself against her. She smelled wonderful, dainty jasmine mingled with vanilla; my senses were reeling. She stood before me in a pink lace brassiere, her perky breasts with their erect nipples peeking over the top edge. I drank in the sight of her, her suspender belt delicately holding up silk stockings, her bobbed hair playfully tousled, her full lips urging me on. I knelt before her and unhooked her suspender belt, unrolling her stockings and kissing her thighs. The perfume of her arousal assailed me. I slipped my fingers inside the elastic waistband of her panties and slid them down. Her soft blonde ringlets tickled my nose. She ran her fingers through my hair, raking my scalp as I began tasting her. I spread her soft folds with my thumbs and her thighs quivered. I guided her backwards and onto the bed. Instinctively she spread her legs, inviting me, and I tantalized her in earnest. I gripped her bum and worked her mercilessly with my tongue and lips, reveling in the symphony of her breathless yelps. The room echoed with her gasping moans and she ground herself against me desperately. She bucked a few times and was spent. I pulled my vest up and over my head, wiping her nectar from my chin. I turned down the bed clothes and climbed in. She cuddled next to me, still catching her breath.

"I've never been with a man before," she admitted sheepishly.

"Neither have I," I replied, kissing her.

I reached for my jacket and retrieved my wallet. I flipped it opened and took out the prophylactic I had intended to use at the Christmas party. I was so hard, I could have cut diamonds. She gaped wide-eyed at my willy as I rolled the condom down the length of it.

"Egads! Is that what it looks like?" she gasped.

I shrugged, "I'm afraid so. Rather standard issue."

"_Those_ are rather funny looking," she remarked, pointing at my goolies.

I tried not to feel self-conscious, it _was_ her first time, and she was rather young and inexperienced.

I reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp. With my protective device implemented, I rolled her under me and wedged a knee between her thighs. She trembled, buried her face in my chest, and softly whimpered as I slowly entered her. I stopped when I reached bottom, allowing her to get used to the sensation and to keep myself from coming right away.

_Oh, God! _My brain screamed as I pulled back and thrusted forward. I'd never been with a virgin before and it was magnificent.

Her nails dug into my back, scoring my flesh. The bedsprings creaked loudly and she began chattering incessantly about how she thought her first time would be different like in the romance novels or on her wedding night. She asked why I was making grunting and noises and breathing so heavy. I wanted to tell her to shut up. The rain pounded the windows as I rode her, my boys slapping her bum with each stroke. Her tightness, the wetness, her moans and cries of pained ecstasy, her fingers digging into my upper arms, her nipples hard like pencil rubbers against my moist skin, and the aroma of our lovemaking was more than I could stand. I buried my face in the pillow and yelled gutturally; I came like a wildcat, thrusting furiously. My heart drummed in my chest.

"What? What are you doing? What's wrong?" she cried into the crook of my neck.

"Uh?" I grunted as my climax ebbed.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Of course," I panted.

There's that awkwardness after making love to one whom was simply a conquest and I was unsure as to whether I should cuddle her or walk back to the car for the evening. I slipped out of bed and went to the loo to clean up. I wrapped the evidence in a bit of tissue and dropped it in the dustbin as I peed.

She came up behind me and I felt her arms round me. Her warm lips planted kisses on my back and I covered her hands with mine. I really could have used a fag right then.

"That was very nice," she whispered.

I chuckled and led her back to bed.

* * *

><p>We returned to the car in the morning and shortly were assisted by a patrol van.<p>

Upon our arrival at Grace Brothers, Monica was barmy as a school girl. I had instructed her on the way in that we must keep this on the down-low and to act naturally. That idea went out the window as she walked round with that fresh-fucked look on her face, beaming and giving me _that_ look. Her silliness and gaiety threatened to expose our impropriety. It was not lost on my staff as Mrs. Slocombe glared at me and Mr. Lucas and Mr. Humphries conspiratorially gave me a knowing smile. Mr. Grainger huffed at me disappointedly and made remarks about going off the deep end.

I tried to act casually as we exited separate lifts. After awkward greetings to my staff, my wife rang to tell me she was on her way to the shoppe. Monica came onto the floor to summon me to Mr. Rumbold's office and he grilled her about her whereabouts, as her father was concerned when she did not return home the prior evening. Monica recited our rehearsed story, correcting Mr. Rumbold when he got the story mixed up. We had agreed that she'd spent the night with "Stephanie in Carshalton, as opposed to Stephen in a car shelter". When Monica's father had called Mr. Rumbold to inform him that she had lied after he had checked her story, the heat was on. I asked Mr. Rumbold to corroborate my story about the sales conference in Birmingham, to which he flatly refused.

My wife had shown up and a disagreement as to whom I had been with the night before, led her to attack Mrs. Slocombe with a rolled umbrella. Monica's father arrived, toting her wedding cake and mistook Mr. Grainger for me and crowned him with the cake. An inquiry ensued, with my staff serving as a jury and Young Mr. Grace and Mr. Rumbold serving as barristers. Mr. Harman inserted himself as referee and bailiff, presenting the exhibited evidence. Thankfully he didn't possess the piece of damning evidence I disposed of in the dustbin at the hotel.

When Mr. Rumbold asked Monica if she had had an affair with me, she went melodramatic and vehemently denied it, almost to the point of making it sound as if she were disgusted by the idea. Funny, she didn't sound disgusted when my head was in her lap last night! Facing my pinched-faced wife in front of my staff was humiliating enough without Monica's repulsed response. I advised her that a simple "no" would have been sufficient.

I made a statement of how I pursued everyone at the Christmas party with my blow tickler. Mr. Humphries stood in my defense. I must remind myself to give him a little bonus at a later date for his loyalty.

Mrs. Slocombe was a right shrew toward me throughout the whole ordeal. Jealousy, perhaps. She really does not like to share.

I put on the greatest act of my life, confessing how I sent Miss Hazelwood to the back seat to sleep while I stayed awake all night trying to figure out what I would say "to the woman I love". I about choked on those words. I was a complete saint as I disclosed how I asked Mr. Rumbold to perjure himself, to which he refused so to do.

"For after all, when the final account is balanced up in the Book of Life, we are men of integrity. What I've said is true and I swear it, as a God-fearing man and an ex-officer of the Royal Army Service Corps."

My performance was impeccable and everyone swallowed it. I should be awarded a BAFTA for it.

Mr. Rumbold stood and addressed my wife, "Mrs. Peacock, if ever I've heard the truth from the lips of a man, I've heard it today. I'm sure you can doubt your husband no longer."

My wife stood and declared, "Darling, I believe you!" and bear-hugged me.

"Well," said Mr. Rumbold, "That's all settled then. And, uh, on behalf of Grace Brothers, may we hope that you will both sail life's stormy seas into the calm waters of old age, safely and immovably together."

"We probably shall," I stated, sealing my fate.

As we departed, Mr. Lucas pulled me to the side and gave me his sage advice, "Only a dog shits where it eats."

Point taken.


End file.
